


Don’t Put Me To Rest

by hero_is_here, shepromisestheearth



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1970s, Alternating AUs, Amnesia, Demons, Drowning, Gore warning, M/M, Set in Colorado, Summer Camp, Tinsley is a detective, Young Love, goldsworth is possessed and kills people, homophobia mention, racism mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hero_is_here/pseuds/hero_is_here, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepromisestheearth/pseuds/shepromisestheearth
Summary: Ricky Goldsworth never wanted to hurt anyone. He was just trying to save a friend. However, when the demon he summoned to do so comes back to have the favor repaid, he has no choice.C.C. Tinsley has just begun work on a case that seems to feature a serial killer in his early stages. He’s still recovering from an accident that happened nearly twenty years ago, and something about the stranger in town seems familiar.





	1. The Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> You may be asking, “kate, why are you starting a new fanfiction? Didn’t you just start a multi-chapter Star Trek fanfic like a week ago?” Yes, I did! I’m actually planning to work on that story for Camp Nanowrimo (pray for me.) 
> 
> My good friend hero_is_here and I began conceptualizing this story a while ago, and I come bearing the first chapter! I’ll be writing in more of C.C.’s perspective, while they’ll be writing in Ricky’s. 
> 
> As always, if there’s any errors, please let me know in the comments down below! 
> 
> Enjoy!

JUNE 11, 1974: ELMTON, COLORADO  
-  
IT WAS ten o’clock when the stranger entered the Clementine Diner. 

It was a sleepy place, with flickering yellow lights and chipped paint. Dusty orange booths lined the left side of the restaurant; advertisement posters of the golden age of Hollywood lined the walls, Kathrine Hepburn to Clark Gable. 

He sauntered in with his head dipped, a fedora pulled down to his brow. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his denim jacket. His stiff boots slapped against the yellowed white tile. 

C.C. Tinsley met eyes with him warily from over his manila folder, raising a black coffee to his lips. He had come here to wind down for the night after the day’s events, taking one last glance over the case. 

The man cut him a nod, before sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. Before him sat a large mirror, that showed all of the happenings in the diner, Clementine’s painted in a peachy cursive font at the top. Est. 1937.

Behind the counter was one waitress, a woman in her fifties who was the daughter of said Clementine. Her brown hair was streaked with grey, and wrestled into a bun. 

“Hey honey, how are you?” The waitress, Maggie, asked the stranger, as she wiped her hands on a white cloth, “What would you like?” 

“I’m fine, ma’am,” his voice quivered and he cleared his throat, “Just a cup of coffee, that’s fine.” 

“I’ll whip that right up for you.” She gave him a bright, pearly smile. 

“Y’know, I’d get the cherry pie if I were you. It’s a good late night snack.” C.C. said, closing his folder. 

The man turned his head to C.C., eyes wide with surprise. They were as dark as the night outside, almost doe-like. His hands were trembling slightly.

C.C. stood from his booth and paced over, offering out his hand. He had a huge grin slapped on his mustached face, “Oh, pardon me, I should introduce myself. My name’s C.C. Tinsley, head detective. You just stoppin’ by?”

The man stared at the hand momentarily before taking it, “It’s, uh, Ricky Goldsworth. I might stay a while.” 

“Welcome to Elmton. You got a place to stay?”

“I checked into the motel down the road. They suggested I come here if I wanted a bite to eat, or coffee.” Ricky wiggled his hand from C.C.’s grip.

 

“As I said, I’d get the pie,” at Ricky’s doubtful expression, Tinsley offered, “It’s on me.” 

“Thanks,” Ricky offered a small smile. The victory of making the nervous stranger smile made C.C. a bit happier than perhaps it should have been. 

Maggie slid the cup of hot coffee onto the marble countertop,“We got all kinds of pie. Cherry, apple, blueberry… you name it.” 

Ricky scratched his temple as he removed his hat, which revealed a shock of raven black hair, “Uhh, I’ll have the cherry, as the good detective suggested.” 

“You got too much power in this town, C.C.,” Maggie waggled her finger, then leaned her head to the side, “It’s awful quiet in here, won’t someone turn on the jukebox?” 

“Oh, sure.” Ricky said, producing his wallet, “Any requests?”

“I’m big on The Rolling Stones. Or the Who.” C.C. said, and Maggie scowled. 

“I don’t like that rock and roll music. I miss dancing music- and not disco, either.” Maggie preached, folding her arms across her pinafore, “Bands like Benny Goodman’s. That’s what good music is. You don’t know the half of it.” 

C.C. raised his hands, “C’mon, Maggie, music’s like the wind. Always changing. What do you like, Goldie?”

Ricky snapped back to attention from where he had been staring at his reflection in the glass of the jukebox, “The Animals are nice…,” 

“Well, play that then.” Maggie said, her voice muffled as she entered back into the galley to retrieve a pie from the freezer, “He’s a newcomer, and he seems sweet. Not like you, C.C.” 

“Of course, Mags, what do you expect out of me?”

The first chords of House of the Rising Sun thrummed out, filling the large emptiness with the familiar tune. C.C. began humming along to it, drumming his fingers on the table as he did so. 

“What’s all this, Detective Tinsley?” Ricky’s voice came out slightly tense, as he stared at the booth where C.C. had previously been working. 

“Oh, that’s just some files from a new case. Started about a week ago.” C.C. said, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of informing someone about the exciting new case. 

He didn’t necessarily like the idea of the townsfolk he loved so dearly getting murdered left and right, but it sure as hell made the job less boring. This case was what he’d signed up for, god, hoped for when he went to the academy. Shit like this didn’t happen in Denver. 

“Oh?”

“It’s exciting, as long as you don’t have a sensitive stomach.” C.C. grinned, like he was about to begin a scary story around the campfire. 

Ricky returned from the booth after casting another glance at the briefcase and folders, “What happened?”

“Don’t bring that mess in here, C.C. I don’t need to hear about it.” Maggie said. Between her oven mitts, a steaming, mouth-watering pie lay. She placed it on the counter and began slicing it. 

C.C. rolled his eyes and turned back to Ricky, beginning in a low voice, “‘Bout a week ago, we got this housecall. The wife of this used car salesman says her husband’s gone missing.”

The clink of plates interrupted him as Maggie laid them on the counter, making Ricky jump. 

“You alright, Goldie?” C.C. asked, placing a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. 

The man seemed to ease slightly, “Yeah.”

The two observed as she placed a slice onto each plate, the dark cherries oozing from their crisp crust and forming a lake of goodness onto the plate. C.C. glanced at Ricky, who’s lips pressed together firmly. He was obviously embarrassed that he had gotten spooked. 

“Obviously, our first reaction’s that she killed him- he was as rich as much as Ford has a low IQ. But she had a good alibi, she was out of town when it happened. So then-,” 

Maggie sprayed a helping of whipped cream onto each pie, “Why do you always have to assume the wife’s killed her husband?”

“It’s just a hunch, Mags. I didn’t even come up with it, Holly did.” C.C. inclined his head towards Ricky, “She’s a temp, but she’s good when it comes to this stuff. She’s hoping to be a junior detective.” 

C.C. began telling the rest of the tale as the two dug into their respective pie slices. The missing car salesman was Marlen Geary, who had come into a large sum of money about a decade before, which allowed him to buy his huge car lot on the highway running through Elmton. 

After a few days, however, one of the search parties discovered his body in the thick pine forest on the outskirts of town. He and the team had jumped on the news and went to the crime scene to investigate. 

“It was an awful mess. Almost like an animal had gotten ahold of him in the time he was out there. His death has been ruled a homicide- he was strangled.” C.C. explained. The body had been naked, horribly mangled and bruised; it had also a slight burnt smell, although there was no indication as to why. “The weirdest part, though, was that his heart was missing.” 

“His heart?” Ricky’s eyebrows shot up, eyes wide. 

C.C. nodded, lips curled in amusement, “We’ve nicknamed him the Elmton Butcher,” 

“That’s quite… that’s something.” Ricky said, eating a forkful of pie wistfully. 

“You haven’t heard the half of it! The piece where he retrieved the heart was almost shaped like a key or something. The news are trying to say it has to do with a cult or satanists- we’re still thinking it may be a single person.”

“Look C.C., you’ve succeeded in giving him nightmares for the night.” Maggie shook her head and patted Ricky’s hand, “It’s alright, sweetheart. You're not the first one, he does it with everyone he likes.” 

A smile grew on Ricky’s face, a spot of whipped cream on his bottom lip, “Well, I should be getting back to my motel.” 

“Need a ride?” It was a dumb question; Ricky probably had his own car- he had gotten here, after all.

“I hitchhiked here, so I’d appreciate it.” He said, placing his hat back on his head. 

“Oh, really?” C.C. stood up from his stool and pulled his wallet out from his back pocket, “Wouldn’t want you to get abducted by a serial killer, then- where’d you come from?” 

“Uh, Iowa.” 

“That’s quite a-way. What’s the price, Mags?” C.C. asked, shaking his wallet to make the coins inside jangle. 

“Are you paying for his coffee, too?” Maggie nodded at Ricky. 

“Of course.” 

Ricky began to protest, but C.C. waved him off. He was grinning his head off, 

“$7.50,” The drawer of the cash register dinged as it popped open. 

C.C. peeled out 10 dollars, and winked, “Keep the change.” 

“Thank you, C.C. Enjoy your night, both of you.” Maggie said. She took the money and placed the correct amount into the cash register, taking the tip and shoving it into her pocket. 

Turning to Ricky, C.C. raised his brows, “I’ve gotta get my briefcase, and then I’ll be ready to go.” 

Ricky nodded, “Thanks, again. I really appreciate everything. You didn’t have to pay for my coffee.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Maybe you’ll stick around a while if the locals are nice enough.” 

C.C. popped open the locks on his leather briefcase, and placed the manila folder amongst the other paperwork. He closed it back and picked it up with one hand. He gave Ricky a thumbs up. 

The two men left together, C.C. holding open the door for Ricky. 

“Sweet ride,” Ricky commented, eyes settling on the black Dodge Challenger in the parking lot. It was as sleek as an oil spill beneath the bright lights surrounding the diner’s sign. 

“Yeah, last year’s model. I’ve been saving since, I dunno, college?”

Ricky nodded, “It looks nice.” 

“Oh yeah, it’s my baby now.” C.C. laughed, shaking his head as he threw his briefcase in the trunk, “I sound like such a headass when I say that.” 

“That’s alright.” 

They piled into the car; C.C. noted as he cranked it up that Ricky was glancing around it, eyes lingering on the hula girl on the dash, and the air freshener hanging around the rearview mirror. Particularly, his eyes settled on the beaded necklace that looped around it. 

“Camp necklace?” Ricky guessed. 

“How’d you know?” C.C. gripped the wheel, turning out of the parking lot, “Yeah, I went to one when I was thirteen. I don’t remember anything about it, I was in a freak accident,”

Ricky raised an eyebrow and laughed drily, as if he didn’t really want to, “Freak accident?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” C.C. said, his voice harsher than he meant it. 

Ricky glanced out of the window, his hands clasping in his lap. His expression was lined with guilt. 

Silence grew between them, and C.C. felt bad for snapping. He turned up the radio to fill it, and Starman by David Bowie began to play. Ricky seemed to like it, his foot tapping slightly as he sang under his breath. It was a comforting sound that he most likely wasn’t aware of, and C.C. wasn’t going to ruin it. 

The motel was situated not far from the diner, and it sat hunched and dilapidated beneath looming pine trees and the glare of the Rocky Mountains. It was colored an pale green, and was mostly deserted. The NO VACANCY sign hadn’t glowed red in years. 

“There’s your place. Need me to walk you to the door?” C.C. offered him a sheepish smile. 

“That’s alright. Thanks again for taking me.” Ricky said, easing open the door of the car. 

“Goodnight, Goldie. Oh, I got somethin’ for you,” C.C. said, and dug into the pocket of his coat. He produced a business card, “Don’t be fooled, it’s my personal number. Call me sometime.” 

C.C. could’ve sworn Ricky flushed under the dim lights as he took the card, cradling it in his hands, “I-I will. Definitely. We could go out for a drink, maybe?” 

“Sounds great to me.” C.C. winked, “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, C.C.” Ricky nodded his head and slipped the business card into his breast pocket. 

He slammed the door of the car. 

C.C. locked his car, and watched as Ricky Goldsworth jogged the length of the motel to the staircase. He walked up the stairs two at a time, and walked to his room quickly. 

Something about Ricky reminded C.C. of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on who. He shrugged off the mistaken feeling, and put his car in drive.


	2. Death of a Salesman

JUNE 11, 1974  
-  
_Marlen Geary was not a smart man. Or a small man for that matter. He heard the rustling of leaves outside and hid in his closet, at the back of his study._

_When Marlen heard the whistling, he could almost picture the lyrics in his head._

**_Every night when I go out, the monkey’s on the table._ **

_The creak of the back door opening, the stomping of footsteps through the house._

_**Take a stick, and knock it off.** _

_Marlen attempted to push himself as close to the closet wall as possible. He could see a shadow blocking off light from the slits in the closet door._

_**Pop goes the-** _

_“Marlen Geary,” a sickly sweet voice came from behind the closet. It slowly slid open. “Your time is up, Geary.”_

_“Oh, God, please no! It can’t be!” The salesman yelled._

_The man with the voice like honey grabbed a fistful of Marlen’s shirt and pulled him closer. The man smelled sickly sweet, like rotting flesh. “Oh, Mr. Geary. I believe it is- your deal is done.”_

_The man slammed the car salesman’s head into the wall once, twice, three times. He let Marlen fall to the ground before grabbing his legs and dragging him out of the house._

_The sounds of cicadas in the woods drowned out any sound of footsteps as the man dragged Marlen through the woods. He glanced around before dropping Marlen’s legs. Marlen was slowly coming back to consciousness when he saw the man produce a large knife, unlike anything he’d ever seen._

_The man straddled Marlen and grabbed the salesman’s face. “Tell them Apollyon sent you,” he said as he plunged the knife into Marlen Geary’s chest-_

Ricky Goldsworth shot up in bed. A thousand thoughts shot through his head before he realized. Hotel room. Elmton, Colorado. Casey-

No, that was not Casey. At least, Ricky was sure it wasn’t. No, Casey was… Casey had…

Ricky groaned as he buried his face into his hands. It’d been fifteen years. Casey probably left Colorado, might not have even been from Colorado to begin with. But those brown eyes-

Besides, the detective’s name was C.C., which could stand for anything. Anything that isn’t Casey. But what if-

Ricky smacked himself in the head. Don’t be an idiot. It’s a coincidence. Slightly similar face, same eyes, but that is it. Though, Ricky could settle on the fact that Detective Tinsley was a very handsome man, with gorgeous eyes and nice hair.

Ricky laid back down on the bed and relaxed. He put his childhood crush from camp far from his mind. It probably wasn’t a good idea to hang out with the detective much. Knowing what Ricky did most nights probably would put a wedge in their friendship. But a thought resonated through him.

 _Get close to the detective,_ the thought said. _Find out all he knows._


	3. Roads Converged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wife of the murdered Mr. Marlen Geary comes in for an interview, revealing her husband’s attitude before his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for a bit of a late update, I’d been procrastinating on writing the interview portion as well as making sure this chapter is as polished as can be!   
> Per usual, if you see any errors, please let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome :)   
> I hope you all enjoy! See you in two weeks! ;) 💞

JUNE 14, 1974  
-  
C.C. Tinsley kicked his feet onto the metal desk, the same lush green as the pines that surrounded the proximity of the building. He had fitted his permanent office at the Elmton Police Department to be as homey as possible; a picture of his husky, Sadie, sat beneath his lamp. Above him hung a painting by his grandfather of a monochromatic cowboy.  
Beside his foot, the phone began to ring. He squinted at it, trying to read the caller ID- the Sunshine Motel.  
C.C.’s hand shot out to pick it up, an ember of hope in the forest of his mind, that perhaps-  
“Yellow?” He said, putting on a professional tone, “Elmton Police Department, Detective Tinsley speaking.”  
“Hello?” The voice sounded hoarse and tired, like the person on the other end had just woken up, “It’s Ricky, from the diner?”  
C.C.’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; he hadn’t expected Goldsworth to actually call him. He was pleasantly surprised that he did, however. He twirled the cord of the phone around his index as he leaned back in his chair, “Hey there! Nice of you to call me while I’m at work,”  
“I can call back later, if I’m being a bother.” Ricky’s voice filled with concern.  
“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all!” C.C. rushed to say, chest tightening.  
“Oh! I’m just- making sure.” Ricky cleared his throat on the other end, “I’m sorry if I upset you the other night… I didn’t know.”  
C.C. paused for a moment, the outline of the worn beaded necklace coming into focus. The only real evidence besides the medical bills that it had ever happened, in his mind at least.  
“Of course not. You couldn’t have known, so don’t worry ‘bout it.” C.C. scratched the side of his head, twirling slightly in his desk chair, “Y’know, I was wondering-,”  
A knock sounded from the other side of the door, the silhouette of Caroline Teller’s fluffy hair rippling in its window.  
“Hold on a minute, Ricky, I’ll get back to you, alright? Duty calls.” C.C. sighed heavily, but he had work to do. He removed his feet from the desk and scooted forward, searching for paper in the midst of the mess. He snatched a scrap of it and a pen, “Can you give me your hotel room’s number so I can call you back?”  
Ricky supplied the number, and C.C. scribbled it down. 312-6885. Caroline’s knocks came more aggressively now.  
“Thanks, Goldie. Talk to you later,” C.C. set down the phone, then called, “Come on in, Caroline, whatcha got for me?”  
The door creaked open, Caroline’s face following. Her dark eyebrows nearly touched her side swept bangs, “What the hell was that?”  
She was standing fully in the office now, her stance the same as that of an Amazonian warrior. A manila folder was pressed to her corduroy suit coat.  
“I was on the phone, sorry ‘bout it. What is it?” C.C. removed his feet from the desk, flushing under Caroline’s glare.  
“Who? Someone who could help the case?” Caroline asked, eyes lighting up at the prospect.  
C.C. rubbed his hands together, making eye contact with the clock, “Ehh, maybe. Just someone I met at the diner the other day,”  
“You know I fuckin’ hate it when you call hookups at work.”  
“It wasn’t a hookup, God, Caroline. It’s a guy,” C.C. tried to shove the feeling of guilt away. He’d been with guys before, sure- but Caroline didn’t know that, and didn’t need to. If anyone did, he would get fired faster than he could blink.  
She backed off, raising her hands, “Mrs. Geary’s here to talk to you, get your lazy ass up,”  
“Yes, mother,” C.C. rose from his chair, and the leather squeaked.  
Caroline threw him a wink, then opened the door.  
Going out together, they entered the main office. Filled with cubicles, the other detectives typing away on computers that filled the human silence. Slackers hung around the water cooler, loose grips on their cups as they noticed the head detective was out of his office. They scrambled back to their desks.  
The room was cramped and uncomfortable, even more so with the new computers. C.C. still remembered slaving away there, and he shuddered. He was infinitely grateful he had been promoted when he was.  
“Ready?” Caroline asked, raising her eyebrows at him.  
“Born ready.” The Detective winked at her as he took the folder.  
Pushing open the door, she whispered with a steely gaze, “Don’t be an asshole.”  
“Hi, Mrs. Geary,” C.C. said, brushing past her, “I’m Detective Tinsley, I’m just going to ask you a couple of questions and then you can be on your way. That sound alright?”  
The widow looked up from where she had been staring at the stainless steel table, eyes pearlescent with tears. In her right hand, she clenched a large handkerchief with a floral pattern so obscene that C.C. could hardly stand to look at it, her pale wrist draped in a Tiffany bracelet and a string of beads.  
Mrs. Geary dabbed at the corners of her eyes and sniffled, “Oh, that’s alright.”  
C.C. nodded, sliding out the metal chair across from her. He placed the folder on the table, which she ogled from over that terrible handkerchief.  
“Your husband, Marlen Geary, is suspected to be a victim of a homicide, as you know,” C.C. said carefully, seeing as the woman looked like she was in the midst of a breakdown, “You were where, again?”  
“A girlfriend of mine was having a baby shower in Denver,” she tucked the handkerchief into her leather purse.  
“Your husband stayed behind?” C.C.’s eyes flicked over the record of her staying in a hotel that night in Denver, as well as gas receipts and card charges.  
The widow shook her head, adjusting her large blonde hair, “He had business to tend to. I don’t know if you heard, but he was having a big sale on all of his current inventory. He couldn’t afford to leave, even if he wanted to go to something like that- he’s never been much of a family man,”  
“No, I didn’t hear about it. Does he often do these big sales?” C.C. clicked his pen, sliding out the pad of paper that Caroline had left inside of the folder.  
“It’s his big summer blow out sale. Sometimes he’ll get customers as far as Kansas City coming to buy. My Marlen was so talented at selling cars, really…,”  
“Uh-huh. Was he acting strange before you left?”  
“Not more strange than usual. Marlen was a very paranoid man. Always double counting his money, calling the bank all the time. Checking inventory. He’d hardly hire anyone, mumbling in his sleep about someone taking everything he had.” She said, fanning herself, “That’s what comes with success, I suppose.”  
“Did he have any ‘enemies’? Maybe that’s why he was paranoid.”  
She croaked a laugh and waved her hand, “Oh, no. Marlen hasn’t had competition in a decade- and I don’t think little old Harvey Johnston at the Johnston dealership would do something so horrible.”  
C.C. still made note of the name, and scribbled beside it to make calls for each of the other used car salesmen in a ten mile radius of Elmston to come in for questioning, or to provide an alibi.  
“Do you mind if I smoke?”  
C.C. glanced up from his paper, “That’s fine, ma’am. Make yourself comfortable.”  
Mrs. Geary reached back into her purse and fished out a cigarette case and lighter. After clicking the case open, she lit a cigarette. The familiar smell of smoke filled the room as she let it drizzle out from her lips.  
“Thank you. It calms my nerves.”  
“When did you and Marlen meet?”  
She raised a fine eyebrow, “That’s a different sort of question than what you’ve been asking.”  
“I thought I should give you a rest. You’ve got to be stressed out with all the police swarming you- on top of losing your husband.” C.C. shrugged.  
“We met eight years ago at a bar. I was dating someone else at the time, but when I saw Marlen… I don’t know what it was.” A dark look passed over her face, like she truly had no idea why she married him. Mrs. Geary snapped back, continuing, “I fell in love and ran off with him. We got married a year or so later. And now…”  
Mrs. Geary glared at the file like it was a viper, rearing its head back to strike. Placing the cigarette back in her mouth, her eyes met C.C.’s for sympathy.  
“That’s a very nice story. I’m glad you were happy together.” For the short while you had, he bit back.  
Dabbing at her tear duct, the widow nodded in agreeance, “Do you have any other questions?”  
“No, ma’am, I think that will be supplementary here.” C.C. said, glancing over his notes once again. His messy handwriting would have to be rewritten on typewriter in order for anyone to read it.  
Mrs. Geary stood with a flourish, wrapping her stiff wool coat around her thin form. It seemed rather heavy for the summer, but C.C. didn’t comment.  
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Geary. I’m sorry about the circumstances.” He offered a hand out to her, which she took.  
“Thank you. It’s been hard for all of us. Goodbye, Detective Tinsley.”  
C.C. nodded, opening the door to lead her out of the interrogation room. She sauntered through the thin passages between cubicles, and the metal door shut hard behind her.  
“How’d it go?” Caroline called from where she was hunched over a scared-looking worker.  
C.C. lifted the pad, halfway in his office already, “Typing ‘em now.”  
She gave him a firm nod, then turned back to berating the man.  
Throwing the notepad onto his desk, C.C. sighed and smiled at the telephone. Well, maybe not right now…  
There was something about the stranger that reminded him of a siren’s song, something familiar and irresistible. He didn’t know what it was. The detective sat at his desk and punched in the number, sliding his typewriter to himself. Maybe he could multitask. Or try, at least.  
C.C. picked up the phone again, “Hey, Goldie, still there?”  
There was a small clatter, then a bit of static as Ricky began, “Sorry, I figured you’d be caught up for a while, so I was making some coffee,”  
“Sorry about that. Work, y’know?” C.C. scratched his head, “There was something I was going to tell you- I don’t remember what, but I’ll try. How’s your day been?”  
“It’s been alright. I still need to grab some lunch.”  
“Need some recommendations?”  
“I’m all ears. If I see another Big Mac, I might chuck.”  
C.C. burst into laughter, and at his delight, Ricky began laughing too. It was a slightly wheezy laugh, but sweet and chipper all the same. He wished he could make the laugh into a record and play it on repeat.  
“No burgers?”  
“No burgers,”  
“There’s a Greek place in the town’s square, if you know how to get there.” C.C. said, “and if you like Greek food, ‘course,”  
“I’ll check it out. How’s your day been?”  
“Boring, ‘til you called,” C.C. cracked his knuckles, “Typing up an interview right now. Total snooze.”  
“I’m flattered.”  
“Should be. There’s only so much that captures my attention- murder, strangers,” C.C. cracked a grin, leaning his head to hold the phone in place as he typed.  
“Hopefully you find me more interesting than just as someone you don’t know,” Ricky laughed.  
C.C. couldn’t help himself as a shit-eating grin grew on his face, “Would say it’s the tall, dark, handsome allure, but I wouldn’t qualify you as tall, necessarily,”  
“Very funny.” Ricky sighed, “Well, I might as well start making my way downtown.”  
“Wait, Goldie, I just remembered,” C.C. said, typing the beginning of his notes, “How would you like to work with us, taking pictures?”  
“Me? You’ve never even seen me with a camera,”  
C.C. inhaled sharply, “I don’t know, I just got the sort of feeling that you were into taking picture. Correct me if I’m wrong, of course. You just said you were gonna be hanging around for a while… and I thought that you probably needed a job. Motel fees wrack up, y’know? It doesn’t have many qualifications. You just have to know how to work it.”  
“I do like photography,” Ricky said, voice a bit whispery, “I majored in it in college,”  
“Well, what a perfect coincidence! Just show me a couple of your prints and- well, we’ll hire anyone as long as their photos aren’t blurry.” C.C. said, then paused. He hadn’t considered if Ricky really wanted the position or not. “If you want.”  
“I wouldn’t be opposed to that at all.” Ricky said, “A-and we would be working together?”  
C.C. grinned, “Yep, you’d ride in the car with Caroline and I. You’ll learn to hate me, don’t worry,”  
Ricky laughed, “I don’t think I could ever hate you, Ca- C.C.,”  
“Don’t bet on it. I’ll let you go eat. We could go out for that beer, if you wanted.” C.C. said.  
His voice sounded uneasy as he responded, “I don’t know about tonight. Maybe tomorrow? I’ve got to go through my pictures and see which ones I want to bring to you,”  
“That’s fine. There’s no timetable for it, so no pressure. Saturday’s good, though.”  
“Great. I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow, C.C.,”  
“Alright, talk to you then. I’ll take you to Slide Rock Pub. Bye,”  
“Goodbye,”  
C.C. set the phone back down, burying his fingers into his hair. He wondered if he was being annoying- the kid had just moved into town, and here he was, the detective who couldn’t get off his back.  
Then again, he did call you, he thought.  
There was that tug at his gut again, like he had to keep this Ricky Goldsworth close by.  
You don’t believe in that fate bullshit. C.C thought to himself, You’re only making excuses because… because, well, it’s not important. You have work to do. There’s a serial killer out there, for fuck’s sake.  
C.C. leaned back in his chair, staring at the clock as he clenched the arms of his chair. That feeling. He couldn’t push it away, and he didn’t know why.


	4. The Awful Truth

JUNE 14, 1974  
-  
Ricky looked at the spread out photos. Since his change of career, he didn’t take too many pictures. Of course, the occasional beautiful point or sunset, he’d get a snap of them. Ricky saw one picture, the eldest of all. It was of a lake and a pier. A sign at the forefront read “Camp Zirkel. Est. 1905.” He quickly shoved the photo back into his bag. He picked out a few for his portfolio before the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Ricky frowned and went to his closet to pick out a dark coat. He put on the coat and headed outside as the sun slowly went down. A location flashed in his brain. He locked his motel door and began walking down the road. It took a while, but he eventually found the place. A gated community. He leaned on a tree, just across from the gated community. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment before they slowly opened again. However, anyone who knew him well enough knew this was not Ricky. He may have wore Ricky’s face, but his saunter diverted any idea that that was Ricky. He crossed the road and approached the gate. Simply touching the lock, it began to sizzle and melt. 

A dark grin crossed his face as he quietly slid the gate open. He glanced at the few houses, but he knew exactly whose house he was going to. He walked up to the house and glanced through a window. His target was reading, sat on a couch. He knocked on the door and waited for the target. She opened the door, unaware until she looked into his eyes. Horror dawned on her face.

“Emily Varner,” he said, sticking his foot in the door as Emily tried to slam the door. She soon realized she couldn’t stop him at the door as took off farther into the house. He sighed and entered the house. He caught a glimpse of Emily as she ran up the stairs. He slowly followed suit. 

As he reached the top, he pushed the doors open to no avail- no Emily. Upon reaching the master bedroom, she attempted to run past him. He grabbed her neck at lightning speed and pushed her against the wall. A strangled sound came from her as she hit the wall. She scratched at his hand, drawing blood. He tsked at her struggle. She tried to speak, to plead, but all that escaped was the strangled sounds. 

“Mrs. Varner, you know the deal. No Tier 2 sacrificed each solstice, no… this,” he gestured at the home around him. She began to cry and shook her head. He tightened his grip on her throat. She attempted to kick and scratch more. Soon enough, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He held her up for a few more moments until he was sure she was gone. He released her, leaving her to crumple to the ground. 

As he dragged her down the stairs, he realized he wouldn’t be able to remove her from the gated community. 

“This isn’t really usual, but you understand,” he told her dead body, pulling out a knife. 

He cut two slits in her back and flipped her over, leaving the blood to cause wing-like puddles in the carpet. Her cut through her chest and reached in, pulling her heart out gently. He sniffed the organ before taking a bite. The taste of copper and uncooked flesh was delectable. He took another few bites, before putting it aside. He could still bury it in the woods later. He continued to carve into her chest. He licked the knife as he stood up. Picking up the heart and sheathing the knife, he made his way back out into the night.


	5. Out Into the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C.C. takes Ricky out to drink, and begins to understand what the creeping feeling in the back of his head is all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all you beautiful people! How late is this update? Four days? I've been very busy travelling, and I haven't had much time to write despite participating in Camp Nano- along with that, I've been feeling very uninspired to write. Thankfully, this story is beginning to pick up plot wise (in more ways that one ;0) and that's certainly something to be excited about!   
> I hope you all enjoy this break of a chapter and it's largeness, because the next few are certainly going to be a ride. (Calm before the storm?)   
> You can basically repeat it with me- if you spot any errors within this, or have any questions about the logistics of something, don't be afraid to ask or let me know! I'm always open to constructive criticism, and having a few other sets of eyes always helps to comb the errors I may have accidentally left in.  
> Apologies for the long note, enjoy!

C.C. drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited. It was reassuring to know that he finally had someone to drink with- besides the regular assholes at the bar- and hopefully make a tradition of sorts of out it.   
In the corner of his eye, he caught a figure descending the stairwell of the motel. It was still relatively light outside, and sure enough, it was Goldsworth. In a fair-isle sweater vest and brown bell bottoms, C.C. chortled to himself and assumed Ricky didn’t go out drinking very often.  
Ricky must’ve caught sight of his car, as he began waving. An envelope clutched in his hand, he made his way over. The passenger door opened.   
“You going on a date or something?”  
“What?” Ricky furrowed his eyebrows as his hand rested on the plush leather of the passenger seat.   
C.C. gestured at his outfit, “You’re just a little overdressed,”   
It was now that Ricky took notice of the other man’s outfit- a denim coat thrown over an old shirt and jeans. He flushed in embarrassment, mumbling how he could go back upstairs and change.   
“No, you look good! C’mon in.” C.C. said, patting the seat. His eyes flickered across Ricky’s face, “Yellow suits you.”   
He regretted the words as soon as they fell from his mouth. He knew that Ricky most likely wouldn’t take it the way he (accidentally?) intended it. Just be smooth.   
C.C. threw his gaze away to the left side of the parking lot as if he found the man clutching a brown bag the most exciting thing in the world. His ear caught Ricky’s comment as he clambered inside:   
“You look fine, too.”   
It was quite easy to hide his surprise at the compliment, and he slid an eye over to see Ricky’s outstretched hand. The envelope. In permanent marker, the words RICKY GOLDMAN, PHOTOS were written neatly.   
“I brought these for you. I suppose you could put them into your briefcase and look through them later.” Ricky cleared his throat. The corners of his lips upturned, “No working on the weekends, of course,”  
“Thanks, Goldie, I appreciate it.”  
As he reached to touch the envelope, their fingertips touched briefly. It sent a flush to Ricky’s cheeks, and he recoiled quickly. Placing his hands into his lap, he exhaled, “What bar, again?”   
“Slide Rock. It’s named after some Colorado monster.’” C.C. cleared his throat as he tried to react accordingly. He opened the mirror in his car, stuffed with junk mail, and placed the envelope inside.   
“Oh? I’ve never heard of it.”   
“You’ll have to ask the owner, Earl, ‘bout it. He’s obsessed with the thing.” C.C. laughed, putting the car in gear, “So. Photography major.”   
“Yep.”   
C.C. glanced over the horizon; the sun was setting, painting the sky in rich violets and oranges, the clouds reminiscent of depictions of the heavens by renaissance artists of centuries past. The air was cool, too, for the summer, and C.C. remembered that this was why he had never left. Colorado was entwined into his very soul.   
“College, those were the days. I was busting my ass over my criminal justice degree. When I wasn’t getting stoned.” C.C. winked at him, as he backed out of his parking space and swerved out of the parking lot.   
Ricky crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows, “Oh? Isn’t that illegal?”  
“We’re in Colorado, it’s practically like drinking water here.” C.C. joked, forgetting he was a cop, “So, uh, you got a family?”  
“No, not really. My mom died a few months ago.” Ricky stared at his shoes.   
Yikes. “I’m sorry to hear that, Goldie.”   
Ricky offered him a smile, “S’alright, she was kind of… overbearing. I loved her, but she was just…,”   
Trailing off, the subject seemed to make him uneasy. C.C. decided to revert the conversation back to photography, “What sort of stuff do you like taking pictures of?”   
“People, mostly. I like showing their personality through the photographs. Once I took this one- well, I guess you wouldn’t really care.” Ricky said abashedly.   
“No, tell me,”   
Ricky took a breath, “Once I took this picture- my best friend as a kid. I think it’s the best I’ve ever gotten of encapsulating a human being into photo paper. I show people the picture and they’ll all make comments that were true about him. Despite never having met him.”   
“You’d have to show me sometime.” As Ricky didn’t respond, he added, “It’s too bad you’ll be taking pictures of dead people.”   
“I’m good at that, too.” C.C. assumed he was kidding.   
They turned a few more streets, until they glided into downtown. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, just a row of clustered buildings; most of them either brown brick or painted in varying shades of beige.   
The bar was located on the corner of the avenue, an Irish pub with dark wooden accents on the exterior that made it pop from the bland buildings. However, instead of the typical clovers that accompanied the gold font, there was a grey rock painted onto the glass. Upon which was a huge, monstrous creature. It resembled a fish, with fat lips and beady eyes. One of its flippers curled around a bottle of beer.   
Inside the bar, it was bustling per usual. Elton John played from the disk jockey’s corner on the floor, and the younger people were dancing along.   
“Ah, Tinsley! Haven’t seen you in a while.” A bartender called, as he set down a foamy glass of beer in front of a customer.   
C.C. raised his hand in a wave, “Work’s been rough, needed something to take my mind off of it.”   
“And who’s the kid? This isn’t a disco, son.” The bartender barked out a hearty laugh, shoving out his hand as the two sat.  
“That’s Ricky Goldsworth. He’s my new crime scene photographer.” C.C. rested a hand on Ricky’s shoulder, as his hand was entrapped by the bartender’s, who shook his arm like he was a Raggedy Ann doll, “Goldie, this is Earl.”   
“C.C. was telling me about the origin of your pub’s name.” Ricky said, cradling his hand jokingly as Earl released him, “I was wondering if you could tell me what the Slide Rock Creature was?”  
“Oh, brother. I didn’t think you’d actually ask. Earl, could you get us some drinks before you ramble?” C.C. cradled his cheek.   
“‘Course. The usual, C.C.?”  
“Yup.” C.C. said, and looked to his friend, “What are you planning on getting?”  
“I’m not a big drinker.” Ricky explained, “So I’m open to suggestions.”   
“Not to toot my own horn, but the Bolter is a mighty fine drink if you ask me.” Earl said, back turned to the two. His meaty fingers ran over the tops of the large bottles of liquor, and came to rest on one of vodka. He also pulled out tequila, rum, triple sec, and gin, and placed it onto the bar.   
“What did you order?” Ricky whispered, eyes wide in amazement.  
“What, are you some kind of tea totaler?” C.C. said with a grin, elbowing him in the ribs, “Long Island Iced Tea.”   
Earl looked at Ricky expectantly, as he poured the vodka into a tall glass, “If you’re curious, it’s root beer and vodka. On the rocks, of course.”   
“Yeah, I’ll try the Bolter.” Ricky said, sitting up straighter.   
Earl gave him a huge grin, “Anything else for you boys?”  
“Onion rings…,” he patted his lips with his index, “Goldie, you want anything else to snack on?”   
“Onion rings are fine by me.”   
A few minutes passed, and the two were supplied drinks and a basket of onion rings. C.C.’s Long Island did resemble tea, despite not containing any. He immediately took to sipping on it, used to the flavor.   
“Come on, try it,” C.C. coaxed, as Ricky studied the amber liquid under his nose, “It won’t bite.”   
Though he threw him an unsure glance, Ricky raised the rim to his lips. He immediately recoiled as the vodka hit his palette. He placed it back on the counter, raised his eyebrows, and whistled. C.C. tried not to laugh.   
“Well?”   
“It’s good,” Ricky reached for an onion ring, and C.C. was surprised when he took another sip.   
C.C. nodded with a smile, “Good to hear.”   
Hunched slightly, a strand of Ricky’s black hair fell onto his forehead in a curl. C.C. now regretted teasing the outfit- it really did look nice. His eyes ran along the stitching of the sweater, wondering where he purchased it.   
Earl returned to them, and placed his hand on the bar, “There’s a bit of a lull in traffic, so I can tell the newcomer the story, since he insisted. You from the Rockies?”   
“No sir, I’m from eastern Colorado,” Ricky tugged at his shirt collar.  
“Well, I’ll tell you a little family history. My folks came here from Ireland in the 1800s- they were swept up in the gold rush, but never made it to California. Settled into the mountains, instead. My grandfather was out cutting trees to make logs. Gets thirsty, makes his way to a big stream he knows is close by. And guess what he damn well sees,” Earl raised his eyebrows at the two of them, extending his arms.   
“Gee, I dunno, Earl. What did he see?” C.C. asked with a lazy-eyed look to Ricky, silently wishing he hadn’t brought it up in the first place.   
Ricky looked back sheepishly, but there was a gleam in his eyes that showed he was enjoying the story. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.   
“At the top of one of the big old mountains, there’s this thing that has got to be a whale. A whale! A goddamn Moby Dick!” Earl looked in disbelief, like he wasn’t the one telling the story. His hand slammed on the table, and a few patrons glanced over at the noise before turning back to their drinks and drizzly conversation.   
“Wow. How big was it?”   
“Nearly as big as a mountain, son. It curves its tail back to keep hold on the peak, see. Big, ugly son of a bitch. The real kicker, though…,” Earl backed off, raising his hands in the air as he shook his head, “You don’t want to hear it. It’ll give you nightmares. You’ll piss the bed,”   
C.C. sighed at the theatrics.   
“I won’t, promise, just tell me, Earl.” Ricky’s speech was slightly slurred, and he leaned forward with such intensity that he was nearly laying on the counter.   
“This fucken’ thing opens it’s mouth. Jesus Christ, his mouth was the size of a semi, could eat a double wide trailer like it was a damn peapod. Big ass teeth, too, the size of tree stumps.” Earl shuddered, “Grandpa’s not drinking the water at this point, starts bookin’ it out of there as the devil lifts his tail and slides forward. Slide rock, get it?”   
“Yeah. I get it. Thas a good story,” Ricky hiccuped, then turned to C.C. with a dopey smile, “You like that story, Casey? It’s a real nice story. Somethin’ you’d tell around the campfire!”   
“My grandfather, rest his soul, spent the rest of his life trying to find another one. There were other people who had seen them- lumberjacks, mostly. I’m not big into hunting, so I thought I’d open this place in honor of his legacy.” Earl looked lovingly around the stuffed bar.  
“It’s a real nice place,” Ricky said, patting Earl’s arm with a sweet expression. C.C. thought Earl might cry, but was swept away to fill the order of a customer.   
Outside had grown dimmer as dusk turned to night, which gave the bar a cozy feeling, everyone bathed in a warm green light. C.C. gazed at the two of them in the mirror opposite, part of his face cut off by a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The bottles framed Ricky’s face perfectly. Red and blue glass casting an ethereal glow as light struck them made Ricky’s hands a kaleidoscope of colors.   
C.C.’s heart weighed heavy in his chest as he skimmed the perimeter of his face, his lolling drunken head and numb lips parting. It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way, and he didn’t know why he was being so ridiculous about it this time, or why-   
“What’s your favorite color?” Ricky piped out of nowhere, his dark eyes swivelling onto C.C.’s face, the color of brownies straight from the oven. The smell of lake water still clung to his skin then, the plate of them on his lap as his mother doted over him more than she ever had. My little boy, she kept crying arms blanketing him even though he already felt like a man.   
“Why do you ask?” C.C. raised an eyebrow at the childish question.   
“We’ve got to get to know one another, haven’t we? That’s the most basic question in the book!” Ricky threw his head back laughing, gaze not breaking from C.C.’s face.   
C.C. bit his tongue and crafted the letters of brown into another color.


End file.
